


Let the Father's Sins be Unbroken

by falsechaos



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsechaos/pseuds/falsechaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki would take the child before him and forge him into a weapon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the Father's Sins be Unbroken

A child's cry splits the night like thunder.

Ozone scorches the air and Loki spits and coughs as though it continues to burn within him. Hot blood melts the chill between his fingers and between the two he thinks he might be reduced to frozen ashes. A spell meant to undo and unmake, to reach out and reduce until even memories were called into question. Nothing at all like this bitter mockery of success.

The child continues to wail.

Loki pushes himself up until he crouches rough and unsteady, rocking on his heels even with a hand beneath to brace him. Too much and too fast and he can feel it, below the poison bright flutter of his drained sorcery. Cold and chill and frost, rejected heritage still there, still within, glacial and inexorably *patient* under his Asgard magics. Just another patina to cover the rust.

The child's cries break into wet sobs and it is only then, in their echoes, that Loki looks up.

Balled fists cover what Loki knows to be blue eyes. Blond hair at the child's neck. Pale skin holds the promise of gold but for the lack of the sun's touch. Thin, shaking shoulders and long, gangly limbs, but the child is nothing if not *promise* and potential even in that weeping frame. Shattered armor around him and only the crimson drape of a cape left to protect him from the night. "Who--"

Old enough to speak then, old enough to know something is lost and missing and Loki is already struggling to his feet, dagger shards of ice against his palm, hatred of one sharp enough to cut through hatred of another. The world pitches around him and all he can see is the pale, unmarked line of the child's throat, can only hear the sobs break into hiccups. Loki stumbles and goes to his knees and his single grunt of pain is enough to catch the child's attention.

Blue eyes. Sky blue and lightning blue, sapphire and cerulean. Every damnable shade Loki can bring to mind. Open and empty of all but desperate confusion.

Loki stops. Icey daggers drop from his numb fingers.

"Who?" the child asks again.

It blooms in him, poison bright and poison quick, a fever dream of a vision. Tall and broad shouldered at his side, golden and resplendent. No longer a blunt hammer to crush and smash his way through obstacles, but *sword* tempered to behead kings. And Loki himself, not a king, but a *kingmaker.* One child stolen for another.

Loki smiles and reaches out to touch the child's face.

A tiny frown creases the child's mouth, but he does not pull away.

"Oh, my bright little one." Loki gathers the child against his chest and smiles when tiny fingers clutch his shoulders. Then the child buries his damp face to Loki's throat and the smile that cuts across Loki's face is sharp enough to bleed. "You are Thor Lokison. You are my son."


End file.
